tter, done up in the long, rakish envelope
which had just begun to come into fashion, and faintly perfumed, a lucky
thought occurred to him.

The man saw that he wavered. "Only a step," said he. "And here is the
quarter." He offered it to Bog between a thumb and finger.

"Why don't you deliver the letter yourself?" asked Bog.

"Oh! oh! for family reasons," answered the man, hesitating. "Miss
Pillbody there is my aunt, and the lady to whom this letter is addressed
is my cousin. The old woman and I have had a sort of falling out about
the young one, you see. These little difficulties will occur in the
best-regulated families. Come, take the letter. I'm in a hurry."

Bog allowed the letter to be thrust into his hand. He looked at it, and
saw, as he expected, that it was addressed to "Miss Minford, Present."
The direction was in a beautiful commercial hand, which was at once
more hateful in his eyes than the most crabbed of writing.

"All right," said he. "I'll deliver it. Poh! never mind the quarter. I
won't take it." Bog moved toward the house as he spoke.

"You're a queer fellow, but a good one. Well, you'll accept my thanks,
at any rate."

He waited at the hydrant until Bog had delivered the letter.

Bog walked straight to the house, and up the steps, although his face
was pale, and his knees trembled.

He rang the bell with a decisive pull, and, as he did so, glanced at the
strange man, who nodded approvingly at him.

He suddenly turned his back on the strange man. With a quick movement of
the fingers of his right hand, he thrust the letter up his coat sleeve:
The next instant he whipped a handkerchief out of an inside breast
pocket, and, with it, a stray copy of a new "Dentifrice" circular, which
he had been distributing the night before. This circular was folded to
about the size and shape of the letter. With the handkerchief he wiped
his face, upon which there were real drops of sweat. The circular he
slipped into his right hand, and then turned toward the strange man
again, to show that he still held the letter. This bit of legerdemain
took about three seconds.

In three seconds more, Bog heard footsteps approaching in the entry.
What if his angel should come to the door? The thought sent a horrible,
sickly sensation all over him, and the solid rock seemed to tremble
beneath his feet.

The door opened, and something quite the opposite of an angel presented
itself. It was Bridget; and her red hair was